Rhenesath's First Flight

Fort Weyr - Feeding Grounds
Milling herdbeasts dot this lightly grassy section of the southern end of the bowl. Fences keep them neatly secured on all sides, even extending into the lake, allowing the beasts ample drinking water without granting them an escape. Dragons young and old come here to hunt on a fairly regular basis, though not all come at once of course. From here you can easily make out the entirety of the Weyr's lake as it spreads out south and southwest to the tumbled rubble of the far shore, while the rest of the bowl lies beyond the fences to the southeast, east and northeast.


It's still dark in Fort Weyr, for the most part, anyway, as Rukbat's glow is only just beginning to be visible over the horizon, with the promise of a glorious day to come given the clear, star-filled skies above. Before the first cock can crow, though, there's a disturbance from the lower ledge of the administration complex - a warbling croon rings out across the bowls, an invitation for the big boys of the Weyr to come out and play in the Weyr's predawn cool air! Rhenesath, her browned-gold hide gleaming brightly, warbles out another invitation as she leaps into the air, winging her way across the bowls to plummet down atop an unsuspecting herdbeast in the pens, latching onto its throat to draw its lifeforce into her own body.

It's almost winter, the temperature is getting colder and colder and getting Kainaesyth to move is getting harder and harder. But today… this morning… was different. Even after getting down into the bowl Ha'ze doesn't quite get it. Until he sees Rhenesath doing his bloody thing, and Kainaesyth lingers on the edges watching his sister intently.

Where one goes in such situations, the other must follow… and Thys, for those sharp-eyed enough to notice, is soon seen stumbling down the stairs that lead from her weyr to the bowl, sleep-rumpled and dressed in clothes that clearly aren't hers - boxers and a shirt that she's still working on buttoning up as she runs, barefoot, across to the pens. She's had a rude awakening, that much is for sure, and, as she stands by the fence to the pens with her arms crossed over her wrongly-buttoned shirt, she looks pale and nervous as heck.

It might be early, but there are some who have already been out and about. But errands from other Weyrs are quite promptly put on hold for the crooning of a gold across the Weyr proper. Quite visible in the just-lightening sky, Loxiath's white-gold wings take him in from across the way. His warble is low and melodic as he drops in to take a beast of his own, and there's just a bit of hovering and /watching/ Rhenesath blood her kill before taking to his own. Framed in the paleness of slightly opened sails, the rest of his form is shadowed and burnt in the dim light, a slender wraith still lurking at the tail end of night.

Across the weyr from apon his ledge, the monsterous skeletal form of Rhyrith stirs and call. His large form leeping from the elge and spiraling down the the gloom of the predawn light. Diving down apon the unsuspecting heardbeasts. The Brown downs his prey taking from it just its life bloods as his swirling eyes seek out the glowing beauty nearby.

Velokraeth is a big boy! Well… not by bronze standards and he's also downright ugly to look at but that doesn't stop him from a-callin' on Rhenesath. Dawn? Pfft. Day or night if a gold's a glowing and he knows about it… he'll be there. He answers her warbling croon with a whuffling croon of his own. Good morning, lovely lady! His wings flare, he stretches and he's winging off towards the feeding grounds even before Th'ero's managed to entirely wake up from sleep. The Weyrleader will be along shortly… and likely in a very black mood in complete contrast to Velokraeth, who is all too happily blooding a kill in the pens.

Abigail has had a busy morning, or at least it's felt like that to her, perhaps it is because she was on sweeps most of the night and is just now making her way along the bowl in order to get something to eat and drink and then find her bed. Niumdreoth was on his way to the pens in order to get a meal, though this, this catches his attentions of course! He hears those calls and lets out his own which are easily caught while the large brown sweeps downwards slamming upon a beast and it is shoved into the ground while his jaws grab hold of the animals neck. Abbey pauses and sends a glance towards the pen and is left blinks a few moments before a tired breath escapes her while she moves along slowly. "Really..?" Is muttered out as she goes heading towards the pens while pulling her jacket around her more.

Joining the building collection of chasers is an Iernian bronze, one that practically slithers into view. His rider, B'haal, had the forethought to remove the bags from him, but Mephixath is still laced with black straps that are due to get quite messy in short order. He strikes quickly and decisively, downing one beast, then a second in short order. The first is eviscerated and drained; the second, however, is curiously arranged with limbs and organs scattered with ritualistic intent. Yet, all the while, his eyes are only on Rhenesath - lurid red and purple, intense and hungry.

V'ric for his part, is not looking terribly pleased as he tromps his way toward the feeding grounds. Certainly not fresh from sleep, the brownrider is fully decked in riding leathers as he eyes his dragon while passing. At least he manages to wipe that scowl off his face /somewhat/ by the time he stalks nearer to../other/ people, fingers raking through his hair with a rough sigh. Is he supposed to say something? Well! There are no words from the brownrider at all. Not at the moment anyway.

Seems the cold weather isn't enough to keep visitors at bay, there is a Monaco Bay bronze here, hanging out while his rider is finishing whatever early morning message delivery that he happened to be on. Draukaith rumbles out, it is a sweet almost sing-song sort of voice while the bronze shifts upwards and is heading towards the feeding pens quickly. His bugles carry in the cool air while he answers the calls from Rhenesath to show he is here to put up a good show it would seem. Quickly he is in the pens, pinning a herdbeast down and making sort work of it, his gaze settled on the others that are appearing while he drains the animals. T'revs on the other hand was making his way out to where he left his dear lifemate, only to find his not there anymore, and it doesn't take long for him to figure out where he as gotten too. The last time he was here this happened, what is it with him visiting this Weyr and some gold feels the need to take flight? Not that his dragon is complaining.

Ha'ze…. actually isn't totally grumpy. Kainaesyth is up and about without a lot of effort. And There are worse dragons for him to decide to chase. Right up to Thys' side Ha'ze strides, his boots clicking along the ground. "She could've choosen a worse time to rise." Arms crossed over chest he'll just… wait.

Not every Iernian dragon hanging out with Rhenesath today just got here; at least one of them showed up last night, apparently, judging by the way he's not strapped in. But then, brown Tisjadath's rider, Z'len, is from Fort, and so presumably has friends to visit longer than however long he was supposed to be visiting. Speaking of which, Z'len is stumbling out to the feeding pen, complaining vociferously and completely unintelligibly, black curls flattened on one side of his head and sticking straight up on the other, as the brown trills and croons his compliments to the young glowing queen and bloods his first kill — she picked such a good herdbeast, the light is going to set her hide off so well, et cetera, et cetera.

Rhenesath is quite vocal in greeting each brown and bronze that joins her, rumbling warmly in her throat - the sound rippling through the blood she's drawing from her second beast. She flexes her wings before slackening her jaw around the poor herdbeast's neck, testing them as she tenses her muscles… and with a clucking of encouragement to her flock she leaps skywards, rising to greet the day with a joyful crow to wake the Weyr - sorry, roosters, but you're out of business this morning!

A low curse can be heard moments before K'drozen can be seen hopping into the feeding grounds. The Brown rider appearing to be in the middle of dressing for his sweeps as his brown took off for the feeding grounds, yelling after Rhyrith K'drozen says, "Shard it Rhy we have dawn sweeps….No time for this now…" a hint of desperation can be heard in the riders voice as he tries to jam his foot into a boot. First kill already dispatches, Rhyrith seems to completely ignore his rides as he leaps for his next, his attention never wandering far from Rhenesath preparing to abandon his kill if she takes to the sky. A loud enthusatic bugle bursts from the skeletal brown as he launches himself skyward in pursuit.

"Uurgh," is all Thys can answer Ha'ze with, as the fact that she's out there wearing very little, and barefooted to boot, starts to actually sink in through the adrenaline that got her out of bed. "It's so early." And Rhenesath's taken to the skies, making Thys a shade paler. She crosses her arms more tightly over her chest and shivers, tilting her head back to watch her dragon's progress… though not without sneaking a look to see who's turned out around her. "I'm so sorry it's so early," she apologises, rubbing one hand over her eyes to try and wake up a little more.

As the gold seeks the sky, so too does Mephixath. He surges into the air with a sinuous undulation and a measured beating of his wings. On the ground, B'haal mutters something to the beast, but the words are lost - and his attention is fixed only on the bronze. That bronze gains altitude at a calculated pace, while his thoughts - all smoke and silk - spin their way toward Rhenesath. No promises yet, just subtle implications that insinuate themselves into the space between minds.

Loxiath drains what he can from the animal, leaving the carcass to flop uselessly…forgotten. His neck gives a bit of a curve, the rest of his body twisting just a little as he coils in on himself. There he waits, spring loaded and prepared for that sudden launch skyward. After her, he goes, pale sails reaching out and dwarfing the brown with their size. A low rumbling fills the air around him, a treble of sound that vibrates out of his chest as each wingbeat takes him higher.

Kainaesyth's flute-like greeting reaches upwards after Rhenesath's gold form. He sparkles in the morning sun as his song continues mentally, reaching out to wist not only around Rhenesath but outwards to all of those who gather to chase. There is love there, for the moment, for the sky for the sense of freedom that comes from flying. Desert sage mixes with the breeze as he reaches skyward, staying just a little bit apart.. no reason to end what is a lovely morning too soon.

Niumdreoth has done this song and dance before, another beast is grabbed and dragged downwards while he drains the animal his wings slightly unfurled at his sides while his tail twitches a bit while he is clearly checking out the others that have joined up for the chase. A low rumble escapes him and his head turns to follow after Rhenesath once she is in the air. The kill is left and he is leaping upwards to follow quickly. His calls are soft for now, a wintering scene is resting in his mind and there are colors slowly starting to drift across the night sky that rest above that snowy mindscene of his. Abigail glances around a moment, soon enough though she is spotting Ha'ze, over near Thys and she is moving on towards the pair. "Hey.." Is offerd with a faint murmur. There is a pause as she peers at Thys before pulling off her flightjacket and settles it around the gold riders shoulder if she allows it.

"Cold?" He'd not bothered to grab a coat when Kainaesyth had urged off the ledge. There's an attempt at nonchalance, in the way he leans forward before he catches Abigail's eye. Discreetly he reaches out a hand, allowing his arms to drop to his sides. This is a little awkward.

"You idiot!" This accompanies W'mic's arrival, as he comes running out to the Feeding Grounds just in time to see… bronze Icosuth, apparently not as awake as he thinks he is, actually eating his kill. And therefore being late to make it up into the air, although his rider's prods and shouts and bluster do, actually, sink in; he drops half a herdbeast once he's already a good thirty yards in the air, leaving it to explode in a small crater as it strikes. At least nobody was standing right where it fell, right? No matter how bad the spatter is?

V'ric glances sideways for a moment, although his own jaw tenses as the chase actually begins. His voice is quiet when it finally comes however, even as the brownrider shrugs out of his jacket. "Don't apologize for this. This is her time to take." He offers nothing else though, head tilting just a little to the side as he drapes his jacket over one shoulder.

Velokraeth has only just begun to blood his third beast when Rhenesath is taking to the skies. Oh-ho! Here's a lady who doesn't waste time and goes right to the chase! Haha, literally! Spreading his wings again, he crouches down and gathers himself before springing upwards and sweeps those red-gold wings of his in powerful strokes. Up and up he goes, warbling sweetly to the gold all the while. As for those other bronzes and browns? Oh, he's aware of them and watching them but he'll wait for them to make their moves first before wheedling his way in somehow.

And now Th'ero catches up, just in time to see the mass exodus of dragons taking to the skies. "Shards and shells," he growls, scrubbing at his face. He's dishevelled and definitely looks as though he literally rolled out of bed. Wrinkled and half untucked tunic? Check. Pants? Thank Faranth, check. Boots? Nada. Jacket? Nope. His hair is a tangled nest too and he's in bad need of a shave… and a good ale but even for HIM this is too early to start drinking. "Least it's not raining," he mutters darkly as he joins the other riders. Did he just jinx them?

Dremkoth's done it again. Woken D'ani up and then without saying why he was needed where, hooked a tooth through one of his rider's beltloops and launched himself from his ledge. A long string of swearing heralds their arrival before they're truly in sight and when the bronze backwings to land carefully on his hindlegs, he swivels his neck and not so carefully dumps his sleep-rumpled, shirtless lifemate on the ground. Without further ado, he trumpets and leaps over the fence to pounce upon the first herdbeast he sees. Fort's weyrsecond? Glowers darkly after him and then turns to walk away. Behind him, Dremkoth follows the rest of the dragons to the sky, his drive growing stronger inside D'ani's head. He just grits his teeth and forces himself to keep going… away. It's slow progress. But he's making some. Inches. Yay.

T'revs makes it over to the pens by the time dragons are leaping upwards into the air and a slight unsure breath escapes him as he feels like the odd fish out for the moment. He clears his throat a bit. "Monaco's duties to Fort." Is said with a polite tone along with a slight dip of his head even. Draukaith makes sort work of one beast, then another and nearly a third before the flight is underway and the bronze is taking to the air. His bugles are heard once more, and the thing about this bronze is he is rather loud and for certain anyone that is still asleep they won't be much longer. Though his calls are all different 'notes' some low others high like the roll of the sea, waves pitching forward. His calls are to Rhenesath sweet and loving ones really, though only dragons will appreciate it while everyone else will be wishing someone could devoice a bronze by the end of this!

Tisjadath looks downright chuffed at the fact that he's doing better at his pre-flight checklist than a bronze. Two down, none to go, he takes off from the ground with a banshee screech and a cloud of dust, aiming for speed and distance to start; actual gracefulness will just have to wait a little bit longer. Meanwhile, down below, Z'len seems to finally realize that — while he's half-dressed at best, and is probably going to need to spend his post-flight time, as it were, in a hot tub, to keep from losing some toes — he has klah with him. Sweet, blessed klah. He shambles his way over to join, well, everyone else, and smiles at Thys, offering her a sip. "Hi," he says, without even the faintest trace of self-conciousness. Or of a shirt, for that matter.

Why is Inri here? Ah, right — it's Thys' first flight, and with Kouzevelth on the sands, she hasn't had to vacate like the others, providing Thys the unique opportunity of having a goldrider with experience to hold her hand. Possibly literally. And guard her, if she reacts anything like Inri … which thankfully it seems she doesn't. She may also be the only one who is largely impervious to the flight's effects, only slightly influenced as Kouzevelth keeps her mental blanket washed over her own lifemate. No Rhenesath hormones for you. "Thys," she calls, making her way up as close as possible and ignoring what Th'ero just said. "Hey. I'm here. If. You need anything."

Up Rhenesath goes, up, up, up! Into the dawn light, welcoming Rukbat with gloriously warm warbling. What Rukbat rays reach her hide add a gilded cast to her otherwise homely shade, setting her browned hide ablaze as she leads the boys behind her up, not only higher and higher, but out and out, too, for this flight shows every sign of going well out over Fort's lands, if not overly high… by flight standards, anyway. She croons back to the bronzes and browns, encouraging them on, clucking approval for their efforts and urging them to go faster, fly stronger, seize the morning's opportunities!

Curled breezes rush upwards, surging out of the canyon for the first time since the temperature has dipped downwards. Kainaesyth cuts through the sky, his wings cupping the air and spinning him around. Is he even trying to win? Except, he's still close enough to make a move. « TI is the dance of life; the beginning of a new story. Who shall share the moment and write their story upon stone for the ages? » It's almost like… the nicest challenge ever issued.

K'drozen joins the group about Thys giving her a pained nod in greating and mummers, "It isn't your fault….these things happen…." his eyes going up to the sky above tracking the movement of his lifemate, mummering words of encouragment to him so high above. Rhyrith drives upwards though the darkness, breaking free into dawns first light. The Browns powerful wing beats driving him upwards and onwards after the beauty before him, studying her every move, trying to learn her to know her though the ballet of light shining off her in the mornings light.

"Oh, Abbey - thank you." Thys gratefully takes the jacket that's draped around her shoulders, drawing it in over her chest… and reaching out to stroke the brownrider's arm in thanks. She may not be overly caught up in the flight hormones yet, but there's definitely some of them in her. And then there's Inri, and Thys blinks, looking wide-eyed at the goldrider. "You're… you're not…" She's definitely glad for the company, reaching out for Inri's hand before stepping towards her, coming maybe a little too close to her side to draw comfort from her presence as she becomes more deeply connected with her dragon, the longer Rhenesath flies.

Ascending toward the light of the new day, Loxiath's rumbling evolves, smoothing into a luxuriating warble of noise that flows as easily as his own body in the air. Where light touches, fire blooms, dispersing shadow and catching gilded lines embedded into his hide. Wingsails shine with it, blazing pale and luminous with the rays that filter through the thin membrane. His focus remains locked on the glow that is Rhenesath though, not to be distracted by the glory of the sun that creates the blaze across dragonflesh. For now, there is but one center to the world as he maneuvers after her, wings giving a steady, firm beat.

Abigail glances over to Ha'ze and offers him a arm yet tired smile, her hand reaches forward to take hold of his and give it a squeeze, her fingers sliding between his and she'll hold onto his hand for now, if his alright with it. "Yer welcome Thys. It'll be alright." She murmurs softly to the other, a soft smile sent to Thys at the touch and she nods slightly. Niumdreoth isn't about to let his early morning.. or perhaps late night sweeps slow him down and he is for the most part keeping a good tempo and a nice position in the 'pack' of others. His mind is stretching out with that mindscene, the winter is still found along with a thickly snow covered forest, stars twinkle within the sky while flashes of blue, green and pink are found slowly rolling across it much like waves in the sky.

Velokraeth follows wherever Rhenesath flies but he will keep below the main crush of male pursuers, a little wary of such large a group. Too much is left to chance among so many and there are a few within that he does not recognize or know well enough! Who will simply chase or who will gnash teeth or lash out in an effort to thin the numbers and up their odds! So he will wait, all while tossing flattering comments to the gold and a few witty, sharp retorts to his competitors. He may be keeping his distance but that doesn't mean he might not try to subtly nudge a few into taking each other out. Sneaky, mean, awful bronze!

There's most likely something really awkward about lusting after one female when holding the hand of another. Ha'ze doesn't look at Thys… and he doesn't look at Abigail either. Instead he looks upwards, tracing the flowing away form of Kainaesyth.

Th'ero has been there and done that too many times and so, in some sad way… understands Ha'ze's situation. Not that the Weyrleader is even aware of that at this moment. He's certainly aware of Thys and his gaze keeps lingering on her for longer and longer spells until he forces his thoughts elsewhere. To visitors, which get growled a greeting — probably not the best moment to meet the Fortian Weyrleader. He scrubs at his face again and spies D'ani trying in vain to escape and then lastly to Z'len. Who has klah. Bastard!

Draukaith keeps his attention on the sky, the other dragons around him are forgotten (for the moment) which could be a downfall if his not careful and one of them sweeps in too close upon him. Those bugles of his carry far, rich notes that deepen slightly as the chase goes on. « My dear.. We could make such lovely music together.. You and I.. Such that everyone would speak about it for all time. » No one said a dragon was a poet, and while Drau means well he should keep to his singing! T'revs keeps to the back slightly seeing how many are here at the moment and his gaze flicks from the ones here then back to the sky where the real race is. A soft sigh escapes him as he catches on what his dragon says and he rubs at his eyes a moment.

V'ric rubs at the bridge of his nose a moment. Trying to remain composed with dragons in the air is..not exactly easy. But at least the brownrider has had practice with it. There's still a glance or two, quietly stolen toward Thys however, lips pressed into a thin line.

Z'len, of course, is utterly heartbroken that Thys has rejected — or, possibly, not noticed — his offering of sweet, blessed klah. And yes, he notices Th'ero glaring at him. So he does what any right-thinking visiting-brownrider-during-a-flight would do — retracts it, zealously protecting it, and glares right back, even while he manages to repeat last night's greeting of "Ierne's duties to Fort. Sir." Grrrrr. (Tisjadath? Tisjadath is ignoring the groundplay. He has FLYING to do!)

"No, how could I go?" Inri asks, canting her head to the side a little and smiling. "My dragon won't leave her eggs. She's got no desire to mate, either, with a clutch on the sands, and no desire to let me be influenced by yours." So she's only acting a little drunk, instead of hormonally fueled to the extent everyone else is. "Fly high, fly long," she advises, "but try not to make it too high or too long because there are already fourteen eggs out there and M'icha is going to kill us."

Once in the air, Mephixath remains a bit lower than the other chasers. He's serpentine in his methods, pursuing from below while so many others seek on high. The better for him to watch her movements; the better for him to match them. The smoke of his thoughts begins to build, congealing into wordless promises and tantalizing temptations. Each might be easily dismissed on its own, but the residue remains with intoxicating intent.

Dremkoth's wing reach for the sky in strong beats and he rises amidst the flurry of wings, saving both mental and physical energy to pursue. He sends dark thoughts, skies with endless stars to Rhenesath, but words, not so much. D'ani keeps going, putting one foot…in…front…of the…other. It's like walking neck-deep through a frozen lake. He's… not making much progress. His head lifts from his feet (whyyyy won't they cooperate?!) and there's Thys looking… he rakes a hand through his hair, swallows hard. Perhaps if he shuts his eyes. He takes all of three steps before he bumps into- He opens his eyes. "Inri!" That grates out between gritted teeth along with more swearing before he coughs and croaks hoarsely, "What-are-you-?" Doing here would be the ending but brown eyes are drawn back to Thys. Now THIS is awkward. Only he doesn't realize it and won't until later.

Rhenesath takes Kainaesyth's words and amplifies them: this is the beginning of a new story! Her story. Her brood-to-be's story. For her thoughts are very much focused on the joy of the eggs to come as she leads the flock higher and further - that is her purpose for being here! But which male will prove most suited to fathering her precious eggs? That thought is sent back to her chasers in a clucked question - who amongst them is a worthy father? Velokraeth need not apply - she's not impressed with his dirty tactics and squawk-chides him for trying to knock out the competition!

W'mic is not having a very good day, and so it's a real shame that they aren't even really into the day yet. His dragon was eating. His dragon, as it happens, seems to be suffering the completely-predictable results of that effort, for that matter — he's flying lopsidedly. Isocuth is, in fact, suffering a bellyache, trying to fly with a full stomach at this velocity. And now W'mic is completely ignoring Thys, Inri, the other riders — male and female alike — in order to stand at the edge of the crowd, staring up at the dragons, muttering threats and promises and insults at the bronze as he finally, finally gives up and goes off to feel sick by himself. (W'mic takes off in that general direction shortly thereafter.)

Mephixath remains as Rhenesath's slithering, bronze shadow in the sky; he keeps pace easily, with turns of experience made manifest in his calculations. His movements are fluid and any strange changes she makes in her flight are measured against his own course - and corrected for. And, still, those silken reassurances are made. The Devil's in the details of course, but what do those details matter when the promises he makes are so sweet? So useful? So grand? It's a veritable siren song in incense - and nevermind those whispered asides, the fine print to whatever he's offering.

She's singing Kainaesyth's song there, as the joy of eggs and rebirth swirls through the bronze's soul. New life is welcome, especially at the onset of the winter when so much life freezes into nothing. It's a siren call to the life loving Kainaesyth and he draws closer than he has come in any point of the flight, swirling around Rhenesath as if she was the center of a very very small world.

Rhyrith edges his way ever so slowly forward in the pack, the large brown weaving this way and that trying to get just that slightest advantage over his foes. Trying to prove with his skill in flight that he is indeed the best choice to begin that story with the lovely above. K'drozen, shifts in the group slowly nearing Thys, his eyes flicking upwards to his lifemate then back to the goldrider before him, all others forgotten, lost in the haze of the flight.

Inri practically catches D'ani, one hand on each of his arms — though one of them snakes back to Thys' fingertips as quick as can be. She's not willing to let it be awkward; she just smiles, though it's more to herself than anything else. "Zel's on the sands," she says, like duh. "So I'm here as moral support. We weren't going anywhere."

Tisjadath is doing great. Phenomenal, really! He's up there, in the air, in the sky, where all the birds have left out of self-preservation and nobody knows what a plane is other than mathematicians — and he's crooning and humming out just how impressed he is with Rhenesath's dainty skills and, and whatnot. Okay, so he's maybe not the best dragon with words. Whatever. He's got mad flying skillz! Let him show them off! (It's a pity, really, that he goes for a barrel roll and some other display tactics when he probably should be going for a direct assault, so to speak.)

Abigail can for the moment in time understand how Ha'ze might feel at the moment. Niumdreoth is up there after all, and there is a faint glance sent to Thys now and then before she just closes her eyes with a faint breath escaping her while she works on calming her thoughts. Her hang grips slightly at Ha'ze's for a moment. She's not /had/ the best time during goldflights, things tend to happen with Niumdreoth after all. Niumdreoth is still there in the fight, or well flight. He is wise to Velokraeth's tactics and he makes it a point to stay away from him as a result. His mindscene turns suddenly, the snow has melted, spring is upon the forest scene, and with spring comes life. Little animals, baby animals at that are seen. Oh his mind is on the thought of eggs but he just puts his own twist on it so to speak. His worn gold flights before so this is /not/ a far stretch for him when one gets right down to it.

Velokraeth sniffs for the chiding he receives — he does it just in the name of the game and for amusement! Not maliciousness (okay, maybe a little…). Not to be discouraged, the pale bronze surges forwards after Rhenesath but he notably keeps his snipping comments to himself and focuses more on conserving what strength he has left in hopes of snaring her when the time comes. Not yet… not quite yet… but he will slowly begin to creep a little closer. Trying to find that one spot that will hopefully leave him in a good place when she falters.

Thys blinks at Inri, giving a tiny nod of agreement. "He'll kill us." She bites down on her lip, looking from Inri to D'ani when he asks her what she's doing there… and then she closes her eyes when Inri steps towards him, giving the goldrider a gentle nudge towards the Weyrsecond. She'll be ok, she can handle it on her own - she's a big girl! And she stands there by herself, eyes closed once more, arms curled around herself, concentrating on her lifemate.

Dremkoth really should not be here straining himself in the skies. Not so soon after his collision with… speaking of, he veers to give Isocuth a wide go-round but in doing so, he's loosing ground. In fact, his muscles haven't fully strengthened after all those weeks of being grounded but he tries, pushing forward until he's trying to shoulder his way amongst the leaders. It's…not looking…promising. D'ani's head turns slowly, ever so slowly back to Inri as she catches his arms. His eyes reluctantly follow a moment later and he stares back at her dumbly. "Yeah, I know but…you…here." He can't breathe. His head turns slowmotion back to Thys. Yah, his eyes follow, then close and he grates, "Damn you, Dremkoth!" His feet are rooted right here where, thankyouDremkoth, Thys is. And Inri too.

Loxiath's mind is nothing if not vibrant. Matching the dawn for color and shine, his thought patterns radiate in waves, all the while drifting melodies of birdsong to flicker soft shadows across an otherwise blinding plane. His lane of travel, however, takes a sudden dip away from the others, creating for himself a bit more space for the massive wingspan he sports. A low croon, another soft and nurturing note even as each beat picks up a little in pace. Faster now, working his streamlined body toward gaining ground instead of simply following.

T'revs inches his way a bit closer to the rest at the flight continues, his hand settled within his jacket in some attempt to keep himself arm. He had forgotten how cold it can be in other Weyrs, and this is cold /so/ cold to him right now that his teeth are nearly chattering. Draukaith dips to the side slightly and then sweeps back in once a position opens itself and he finds himself closer to Rhenesath as a result. His bugles have quieted a bit, there is a spark in his mind one that follows with the thought of new life indeed. New life with lovely voices if he was only able to sweep close enough and get a chance to catch a certain lovely gold!

V'ric might just be among those that slowly begin a dance to get in closer. One step..two..he might not even fully realize that he's gravitating that way. But he's watching Thys more than the dragons at this point, fingers tightly clenching the jacket he still has draped over one shoulder.

Th'ero glares right back at Z'len. Meanie for not sharing! He wants that klah (and Thys… wait, what?) and he'll start to shuffle and weave his way closer to the visiting rider. Shall they growl a little more at each other? Not to be! As he's distracted by… "Inri!" There's two goldriders? He rubs hard at his eyes, blinks a few times and tries to clear his thoughts. "… here too? How…" And then he scans the skies. No sign of Kouzevelth! And Velokraeth is still so very determined to chase and catch Rhenesath and all too soon, Th'ero is losing his thoughts to the flight rather than the anxiety of having two goldriders present or that Z'len still has klah and he doesn't.

Young wings tire quickly… or Rhenesath is keen to start the process of making new life. Either way, the gold begins to slow, showing signs that are possibly inviting to the flock behind her - there's a little faltering as she hits a thermal, a few seconds too long needed to adjust herself to the new current. Or perhaps that's an intentional falter? Could be, as she croons encouragement to the boys: Step forward, worthy sire of eggs-to-come!

Kainaesyth coos out encouragement to Rhenesath, even as he presses forward, looking to close the distance. « Once there were two, separate, apart… » Is he really going to start a story now? But yes, he legit is. It's probably a good thing that things will be decided quickly, or he'll have time to get into starcrossed lovers and accidental births. It'd be a good story, all tied in the heat of the canyon's bottom and the promise of tomorrow.

Ah! And there, the moment comes for Mephixath to strike. The bronze lances sharply upward, striking as swift and sure as any serpent. His silken purr and smoke-touched mindvoice all but vanish - leaving only the words themselves, as starkly laid out as any contract. The body moves more fluidly, with his neck and tail outstretched toward Rhenesath, talons extended, and wings curved, just so - even now, with the final judgment at hand, he twists himself into a thing of utter temptation. Fly to him - and Rhenesath's every desire will be granted.

Mistake or invitation, Rhyrith croons softly as he attepts break free of the pack his large wings beating hard to try to catch that thearmal hoping that with its help, and her invitation they will be one and start life anew. Claws out stretches and tail wiping the large brown ties to slip between his larger brethern to catch the prize above

Niumdreoth is near the front of the group, his managed to keep up all this time and he is now slowing down yet. The brown is quick to catch the sight of the slow of wings, the slight falter that is from Rhenesath before he is putting a bit of effort to push himself forward with a deep rumble escaping him while his front paws reach out moving to try and grab hold of her in some attempt before one of the others can sweep in and grab her. His mind still carrying that springtime thought of life, sweet life and warmth that floods his mind and passes it on to Rhenesath's as well.

Well, this is new behaviour from a gold and Velokraeth's not about to pass up a crooning call of encouragement like that! If she wants eggs? He's proven that he sires some good clutches! Half of Fort is bred by him! That counts for something, right? Even if he's so incredibly fugly! He'll take it as open invitation and wastes no time in pouring all the last of his strength and stamina into his wing strokes as he weaves and dodges around his competition in hopes of snaring Rhenesath out of their reach before she can "falter" any further.

There's a rush of air as Loxiath's wings take a sudden extra down sweep. It's a push forward, body twisting midair as the brown aims to come up beneath the lagging Rhenesath. Claws extend as many others do, an abrupt..almost bark of noise given into the air as he arrows in for her attention. He has no true words that come through the glowing haze of his mind, just the warmth of the dawn kept in the cradle of his wings.

Somewhere nearby, Kouzevelth is disapproving slightly. Very slightly, and drowsily, because most of her focus is far away from Rhenesath and the rest of the Weyr; it's on the sands, on her eggs.

Tisjadath, just as klah-colored as his rider's actual klah (which Th'ero still can't have any of), is floating through the sky, adrift on the thermals like an errant cloud of smoke — still having a little too much fun just with the show-off flying, maybe. This would be the exact second when he, too, hits a thermal, and gets an unexpected reaction — in his case, the updraft knocks him several yards higher than he actually expected to go, and so now he has to correct (overcorrect?) and half-dive in an attempt to catch up with everyone else trying to catch the gold. Of course, he couldn't possibly miss from this angle, right? There's only one gold-toned dragon up here! (Well, only one of them is glowing, anyway. Oops?)

The slowing movement from Rhenesath are caught which means Draukaith is pushing forward once more, there are plenty left in the race, and that means there are plenty of chances for someone to get shoved, smacked and who knows what else is going on. There is a deep bugle that escapes him, one that is calling to the gold, asking her to go with him he will prove that he is worthy of her if only given the chance! He sweeps close, perhaps doing a slight bit of pushing of his own as his taloned paws stretch out for a grab, and if able to reel her away from the rest if his lucky enough for such a move.

Dremkoth surges forwards with the others but the sky is too crowded for adequate wingspace, so he folds them and drops a half-dragonlength before spreading them once again. It's not enough to give him the advantage though, and he knows it. The bronze is too tired and beginning to feel the strain of previously-bruised muscles. He still wants to win and thus keeps going, in hopes that she'll drop from just above him into his waiting clutches.

Dawn's flight is enhanced by dawn's light, and it's the warmth of that light that draws Rhenesath. She chooses, she selects the most worthy sire; there's no leaving it down to fate or chance or luck as she veers towards the light that is Loxiath, inviting him to capture her… though not without a croon that's almost apologetic to the rest of her chasers. Her flock! And then her thoughts are solely for her captor, and for the new spin of the cycle that they will create together.

Mephixath seems to pull up short - and, somewhere, in the shared space of minds, the sensation of a chain being pulled might well be felt. The bronze utters a disgruntled snarl angled for the ground and he peels away from the rest of the chasers with an aggravated snap of wings. The thing he chases now is solitude and distance from this aerial debacle. Another attempt at subjucation failed; another tally for his rider to mark down. As for B'haal? He's gone already, practically a ghost for as silent and swift as he moves.

Rhyrith peels off as the gold finds her way into the arms of another and soars off towards the weyr proper. On the ground K'drozen runs his hand over his face and turns breaking away from the back towards the weyr mummering something in Abigail's dirrection about sweeps before disapearing down the trail rapidly.

Kainaesyth's story changes, the characters shifting. Excuse this bronze as he sails above them in large circles and start telling a story about the two who will twine together to begin their own new story. "Shit." Why Ha'ze is swearing is a bit of a mystery though, as he turns to squeeze Abigail's hand harder. YEah, then he's just going to go pick her up and they'll go. If she's okay with that of course.

Loxiath is quick to latch on and take over, white-gold wings stretching out wide to help direct the flight. He coils around Rhenesath though, a loud bugle given in triumph.

Down on the ground, Thys's eyes suddenly snap open again, though she's struggling to focus on the now. She blinks, looking for the unknown victor, before stumbling away towards the ground weyrs.

Velokraeth fails in capturing Rhenesath and with a disappointed hiss and snarl, he wheels away and swoops down back to his ledge. Oh well! Can't win them all though he wishes he could. So while he couldn't get lucky this day (dawn?), he'll make sure Th'ero has no say in the matter. Speaking of the Weyrleader, he gets a good jolt back to reality, better than klah ever could wake him up and swearing colourfully under his breath he storms away. If he happens to bump into Z'len along the way and knock over that klah? Well… it was an "accident". Riiight. He won't even stop to apologize — he's got a weyrmate to go wake up. GOOD MORNING.

Niumdreoth finds himself missing, he thought he was close enough to grab hold of her but it seems though that was not to work. A deep rumble escapes him and he just manages to escape finding some run in with a bronze while he dives to the side and is soon heading downwards. He lands with a hard thud while his tail snaps and he is lingering there quietly while a slight growl escaping him. Abigail lets out a breath that she finds she was holding and gives her head slight shake before she looks to Ha'ze and pulls him a touch closer to her. Oh yeah she's going with him, Niumdreoth is there to take them off if they so choose it seems.

V'ric just looms right behind Thys. He's in a hurry, that's for certain, and his own haziness and attachment with Loxiath isn't helping matters. Ground weyrs are needed!

Draukaith isn't hanging around once it seems there is another winner. The bronze glides downwards, landing long enough to pick up T'revs before the pair is for certain heading homewards! To escape the cold weather, for what else could they be escaping?

Dremkoth's bellow of disappointment is cut short as he veers quickly out of the way of the falling pair lest they crash onto him. He tucks his tired wings and drops swiftly before re-opening them and glides unsteadily down, nearly misses his ledge, claws his way back up and flops there. Rest! Sleep! And later water. D'ani… opens his eyes but his jaw is still tensed. "You," he grates to Inri, "Shouldn't be here." But since she is, he snakes an arm about her waist and if she doesn't fight him off, pulls her away with him. He stalks determinedly, only one thought on his mind. Where are they going? Welp - to plunge in the lake, that's where, and douse this heated desire lest it ruin everything. There are some things that just cannot override gentlemanly intent. Swimming Inri?

"I was just being helpful, like Kimm was for —" Okay, so Inri isn't finishing that sentence, because she's being scooped off. Which she is not really complaining about, no, though there might be a lecture later for getting her gown wet. For now, she's cold and damp enough that she might enjoy the heat of the Sands for an hour or two, and that's sort of a favor in and of itself.

Yeah, well, D'ani's going to be terrible company for the first part of that swim. Which is more like a dual baptism, but there ya go. At least until he's sopping wet and cooled off and the D'ani she knows is behind those brown eyes. Then he'll be wondering what Inri is doing in the lake with him when she should be on the sands with Kouzevelth. That also begs the question ofwhat's he doing in the lake and… a squint skyward will confirm his suspicion. He'll be contrite and aghast that he apparently dragged her here and try hard not to eye that gown plastered. Yeah. Fail. He owes her dinner. Doesn't he?


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